


wide-eyed walker

by spock



Series: through the dawn [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anonymous Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian meets him at a bar. It becomes a thing, but they never do get around to exchanging names.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wide-eyed walker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thistidalwave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thistidalwave/gifts).



Ian's become a pro at fudging the return time of his ROTC trips. He'd usually spend those stolen hours hidden away with Kash, but considering that his and Kash's thing isn't much of a _thing_ anymore, that's off the table.

He decides to be brave and take a chance, makes his way deeper into the city scoping out club after club. He'd left his duffle back in a rented locker at the Amtrak station. There are vague hopes in his head that his army fatigues age him up enough that he won't get carded when he finally works up the nerve to enter a bar. 

When he finds one that he likes it's not in the best part of Downtown, but all that means is that it's still leagues cleaner and safer than his own neighborhood. The guys loitering out front are smoking, minding their own business in clustered groups of two or three. All of them look like regular, working-class guys using their Friday to unwind after a long week of nine-to-fives-plus-overtime. He figures that blue-collar guys and rough-trade would probably be his type if he actually had enough experience to know what his type is, so this is probably the place for him. 

Ian gets through the door without any problem, taking the lack of a bouncer as a good sign. He heads straight for the bar and takes a seat at the counter. 

It's crowded, but not in the way he figures any of the trendier places he'd passed off the main strip must be. Nobody's dancing, despite there being alt-rock playing at a low volume on the stereo-system overhead. Most of the noise comes from the nonsensical hum of conversation bubbling up from all over, the clatter of a few games of pool being played in the back, bursts of laugher that rise above the noise from rowdy groups of friends manning the booths that line the walls, softer laughter that breaks out more rarely but rings out just as loud when pairs men lean closer towards one another and smile.

He takes it all in as he waits for the bartender to take notice of him. The man seated to his left has his body turned so he can speak to the guy next to him, but the stool to Ian's right is free. 

"This' what living in a post-Don't Ask, Don't Tell world is like, huh?" Someone questions from behind him. Ian turns to see a guy that looks around twenty and he's — well Ian wouldn't call him _dirty_. He looks like he just got off a shift at a construction site or lumber mill. It's such a good look on him that Ian finds himself slightly distracted by the picture he presents. 

"Um," Ian says unintelligently. "What?"

He smirks and raises his eyebrows, rocking forward on his feet as he nods to the empty seat on Ian's right. After a few seconds of Ian continuing to stare at him blankly he sighs long-sufferingly and grunts out, "It taken?"

"No," Ian answers quickly. He takes the seat and immediately flags down the bartender, raising two fingers and then tapping his index finger down on the countertop twice.

"What I _meant_ ," he stresses, clearly put-out by having to explain himself, "Is that a couple months ago a jarhead like you wouldn't be caught dead parading in a place like this dressed up like that."

"I'm Army," is all that Ian manages to say in reply. The barman appears in front of them and sets two bottles down before taking the guys money and rushing off to the other end of the bar again.

"Same difference," he counters, before picking up one of the bottles and draining half of it in one pull. "C'mon, knock yours back so we can get this show on the road."

Ian isn't sure what he's talking about exactly, but he's more than willing to find out; drinks as quickly as he can, hasn't even set it back down fully on the counter before he has to scramble out of his seat to follow the other man deeper into the bar, the pair of them making their way through a dimly lit hallway only to emerge into an even darker alley.

Ian allows himself to be shoved up against the brick wall that makes up the exterior of the bar, head jolting forward to avoid concussing himself. He watches as the guy drops to his knees and starts undoing Ian's pants without saying a single word, shoving them down so that they're bunched up around Ian's knees. He pulls Ian's dick out through the slit in his boxer-briefs and quickly starts jacking Ian off, leaning in to lick between his fingers to get at Ian's skin to help make his grip slick.

"I'll do you first, yeah?" He asks, staring at his hands as they bring Ian's erection to life. Ian doesn't think he makes all that much of an effort to have it sound like a question. Ian finds himself nodding in agreement anyway because _of course_. 

Their harsh breathing sounds overly loud in the muted silence of the alleyway, echoing around them, mixing into the slick noises being made from the hand working over his dick. He doesn't know what he was expecting when he came here tonight, but it sure as hell wasn't this. Ian isn't sure why he didn't expect this type of situation to be one the table, because it's awesome. It's everything he didn't know he'd wanted.

"Yeah," Ian answers belatedly. "Yeah, _promise_."

It earns him a smile, sharp and fleeting and gone before it was ever really there in the first place. The guy leans in and licks the head of his dick once, twice, then takes Ian in as far as he can go, intentionally choking himself to force the last few inches of Ian into his mouth. He pulls back to catch his breath and a tendril of silva connects his bottom lip to Ian's dick.

Ian feels like he's in love.

•••

He's been spacing out all day.

Kash called him in to work even though Ian specifically asked for time off for the entirety of the weekend. Ian’s realized that the reasons working at the Kash’n’Grab had been so sweet were mostly attributed to the perks he got from fucking his boss. Now that they’ve ended that aspect of their relationship he’s found that picking your own hours and getting out of grunt work isn’t the norm. 

Unlike his older brother's apparent glee in successfully surmising that Ian managed to hook up with someone other than his boss, Kash doesn’t find Ian’s spaciness particularly endearing. He doubles up Ian’s workload as a means of punishment but Ian can’t even bring himself to be all that mad about it, too busy thinking about the weekend.

•••

Ian spends a week obsessing over what happened at the bar. When Friday rolls around again he just can't take it anymore so he walks to the train station just at the sun is setting. There isn't a chance in hell that he would've been able to sneak out of the house wearing his fatigues without at least one of his siblings noticing so this time he's going out in street clothes — flannel button-down with the sleeves rolled up and his best pair of jeans. He hopes that they make him look older like his ROTC gear had, but not like he's trying too hard for such a low-key place.

He makes it to the bar around the same time he'd arrived the week before, hoping that the day and time crossover is enough to up his chances of running into that guy again.

Taking the same seat at the bar might be taking the replication plans too far, but the way Ian's heart is thudding in his chest keeps him too occupied to actually think about it. Despite there being a different guy working at the bar this week, he follows the same protocol as his coworker by not even bothering to approach Ian, which means that he won't get served without flagging him down or, more likely, that Ian probably looks just as young as he actually is.

Tapping his fingers against the grain of the wooden countertop quickly earns him a weird, disgruntled look from one of the men sitting by him. Ian forces himself to stop and spins around in his seat, leaning his elbows back to rest on the bar behind him as he scopes out the crowd, looking for his guy.

Ian's so focused on trying to spot him that he doesn't notice another man approaching him until he's already spoken. "Hey, Red." 

He's older than Ian — way older. Probably as old as Frank, but unlike his dad he wears it well. Doesn't look rundown or tired in the way Frank does. He's handsome and when he crowds his way into Ian's space to ask him questions — _What's your name? Did you grow up around here? Are you going to college in the city?_ — it doesn't feel as pushy as it might've been.

Ian figures there are worse guys he could let buy him a drink. He'll do until Ian's guy shows up, at least.

•••

Ian isn't exactly sure he knows what he's doing anymore.

The last time he'd come to the bar the guy hadn't shown. Ian had stayed as late as possible, until he'd had to rush and catch the last train back. He'd gotten hit on twice: first by the guy Frank's age and then again by a post-grad hipster. Both had done their best to get Ian come home with them. Ian hadn't been able to pull the trigger with either of them. He told himself that he wouldn't leave, that he had to see this through, and if the guy didn't show then that would be the end of it.

He hadn't shown. Ian's resolve lasted two weeks. 

When he enters the bar this time around he spots his guy as soon as he pushes through the door, which is a grave improvement to his last botched attempt. 

Their eyes catch and Ian manages a glimpse of that sharp smile before he’s before turning, darting back towards the hall they'd escaped through that first time. Ian follows behind him, entranced, using his longer stride to eat up the space between them, breathing down the guy’s neck by the time they reach the back exit and stumble out into the night. 

"Fancy seeing you here, Captain America," he teases. Ian can't help but wonder if this is all in his head, the way that he's leaning against the wall parallel to the door seems too good to be true.

Ian can't stop from plastering himself along the front of him. When he leans in for a kiss the guy jerks his head to the side, looking at Ian out of the corner of his eye, shooting him a look that clearly questions Ian's sanity. Ian quickly leans away, confused.

"Kiss me and I'll bite your fuckin' tongue off," he tells Ian, serious as all-get out. "Now fuck me already," he demands, magicking a condom out from his back pocket and shoving it between Ian's lips.

•••

It becomes a thing. They have a set day of the week and everything.

The fourth time has Ian letting the entirety of his weight rest against his guys back, catching his breath as he waits for his dick to soften enough that he can pull out. Ian's just detached his teeth from where they'd bitten into his neck, a knee-jerk reaction as he'd come that only seemed to turn his guy on more. "So," Ian starts before pausing to gather his wits. It's the longest they've lingered together after they've come since they started hooking up. He figures it's as good of a time that he's ever gonna get.

"Don't worry," the guy says, huffing out a laugh. "I came, dude. No complaints on my end."

"No. I mean—I know," Ian stumbles over his words. He pulls away from Ian, hunching down slightly without warning to pull up his pants. Ian has to jam his hand down between them to press of the base of his dick so that the condom doesn't slip off as Ian slides out of him. "I was going to ask, uh. What's your name?"

He looks at Ian over his shoulder as he finishes doing up his fly. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

Ian stands there with his dick hanging out of his jeans — used condom still on — and watches as he gives Ian a half-assed wave and exits through the front of the alley to disappear out of sight out onto the street.

•••

It's Wednesday, which is to say that Ian's been utterly useless since the moment he last hooked up with his guy the previous Friday, when he'd left Ian standing alone in that dark alley of theirs.

He's spent most of his shift zoned out at the counter, barely focusing as he rings customers up. Ian's probably been giving out the wrong change more often than not. He's luck that most of them are shit at managing their money anyway and won't notice, besides, Ian's more of a short-changer than an over-payer when he's distracted should it shouldn't put him in the red when he cashes out at the end of the day.

Just as Ian's waffling over taking his break the bell above the door chimes. Ian groans and picks his head up off the countertop, trying to look respectful and not like he's been staring off into space for the past twenty minutes, bored out of his mind during the mid-morning customer drought. 

Whoever just came in makes a noise as if they'd been shot, abruptly cut off as it slid somewhere in the grey-area between surprised and choked. Ian looks to make sure they're okay and — 

It's his guy.

Ian knows he's smiling too wide, grinning, can feel it in the way his cheeks ache. His guy still looks kind of shocked but after a few beats he just — relaxes. His shoulders drop and a smile of his own starts to spread across his face before he cuts it off, rolling his lips into his mouth.

He stuffs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie and makes his way down one of the isles. Ian never takes his eyes off him, sitting up straight so that he can see over the tops of the shelves. Ian can't even bring himself to look away long enough to watch the monitors behind even, even though he knows they'd give him a clearer view. He gets too much of a kick out of the few times his guy turns to sneak glances at the counter, at the way their eyes meet and hold until he finally turns away again to look where he's going.

Seeing him outside of the dim lighting of the bar or the shadowed, city-lit alleyway has Ian realizing that they're likely closer in age than he'd originally thought. He's probably around Lip's age, give or take a couple of years. In the light of day at a place that's a part of Ian's world in a way the bar could never be makes Ian feel stupidly brave, like he can ask for things he was too afraid to request in the dark.

"Um," Ian's voice cracks from nerves and disuse. He clears his throat and ties again. "Can I help you find anything?"

His guy turns and smirks at him, walking backwards through the aisles so he can stare directly at Ian. "Naw, I got it."

He grabs a few more things and heads back to the front of the store, dropping them down on the counter in front of Ian. "This place got a Friends & Family discount or somethin'?" He asks.

"What, you my friend now?" Ian teases, chest tightening as he finishes ringing him up.

"Sure as shit ain't your family," he mumbles, glancing around to make sure they're alone before he reaches up to press his thumb against Ian's bottom lip, tugging it down so that the bottom row of Ian's teeth are visible before pressing the flesh of his thumb against them too, both of their breaths picking up.

Something crashes in the freezer and they both pull back from one another, reluctant to break contact. Ian starts bagging but gets distracted when his guy slips the thumb he'd had in Ian's mouth into his own, sucking on it. Shit like that isn't fair _at all_.

Kash tosses open the door to the refrigerator and sticks out his head, yelling, "Hey Ian, can you come back here and—" He cuts himself off when he see's that Ian's with a customer. "Oh, sorry," Kash smiles self-deprecatingly, before focusing on Ian again, "Ian, when you're done with that, come back here and help me with this, okay?"

"I was planning on taking my break after this," Ian hollers back, words turning into a whine at the end.

Before he can say anything, Ian's guy cuts in with, "Yeah, Pops, I haven't even paid yet and you're killing the view for me, so why don't you keep your ass in the back and let the kid finish ringing me up."

Ian huffs out a laugh and grins, forgets that Kash exists until he hears the older man let out a frustrated grunt before slamming the back door closed again in disgust, leaving the two of them alone at the counter again.

•••

Ian does take his break after he finishes ringing his guy up. They head to the park and Ian spends the entirety of his break — all twenty minutes — getting blown inside a bathroom stall. He doesn’t ask that Ian return the favor, even though Ian totally would. _Wants to_ , even. Instead, Ian gets a slap on his ass and is told to get the fuck out.

"See you on Friday," his guy says as he watches Ian leave and head back to work. The last thing Ian sees before he forces himself to turn around is the sight of his guy slumped against the door of the stall they'd just been in, squeezing the hard line of his erection through the thick denim of his loose jeans.

•••

The Friday after their impromptu mid-week meeting is more intense than usual.

Ian notices the way that his guy’s hair is nearly dripping when they tumble out into their alleyway outside the bar, his skin tacky and damp.

"I took a shower," he says with intent. Ian isn't sure what that's supposed to mean besides the obvious, except he sort of gets caught up at the thought of him guy completely naked for once, slick with water and steam curling around his body. Ian presses closer and licks behind his ear, missing the tang of sweat but enjoying the clean taste of water and fresh skin all the same.

He must notice that Ian has gotten distracted, missed his vague cues entirely like Ian normally does, because he lets out a sigh that's come to sound way more like a laugh, getting closer and closer to the latter the more they see of one another. "Which means my ass is squeaky clean," he continues. "Clean enough to eat off of," he stresses and finally Ian gets it, lets out a moan and buries his face deeper into his guy's neck. "You owe me. From Wednesday," He tacks the last bit on like he actually thinks Ian needs to be talking into it, as if Ian isn't one hundred percent on board already.

"I like how you think you'll enjoy this more than I will," Ian laughs and pulls away, dropping down onto his haunches. He gets his guy's pants down and spins him so that he's facing the wall with his ass directly level with Ian's face.

Ian spreads him with both of his hands, squeezing and dipping his thumbs into the cleft to rub against his hole a few times before leaning in and following that same path with his tongue. His guy chokes and shoves his ass back towards Ian's face. Ian buries in deeper and adjusts his grip, squeezes the flesh of his ass before firming up his tongue and licking harder, deeper.

•••

Lip managed to talk him into ditching school, giving themselves an impromptu three day weekend as a result, so Ian's spent most of his day in the city already. He begs off heading home with his brother and arrives at the bar way earlier than usual.

He claims a booth that gives him a direct view of the door and shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to one side of the rounded bench after a half-assed attempt at folding. 

Ian pulls out his phone and starts dicking around in an attempt to make the time pass. He knows better than to try to order something at the bar by now. The two guys who only ever seem to work the shifts Ian frequents have snuffed him out. They aren't dicks about, but they won't fix him anything unless somebody else orders and pays. Ian's not overly upset; it's not like he comes here to drink.

Every few minutes his eyes lift to peak at the door, sooner if he catches sight of the door being pushed open. It's never his guy.

This time when he glances up, Ian's makes eye-contact with a guy who's just come through the door. He smiles at Ian with raised eyebrows. He's hot, and he's smiling at Ian, so Ian can't help but flash one back at him distractedly before looking down at his phone and going back to the game he'd been playing.

"Are you waiting for someone?" The hot guy's standing over Ian's table, two bottles within his hands as he sticks out one of his fingers to point at Ian's phone.

"Sorta," Ian admits. 

He takes that as an invitation to sit himself at Ian's table, close enough that their knees knock a little. "I'm Jon," he introduces himself as he slides one of the bottles Ian's way. The one he brought over for Ian still has the cap firmly secured on it. Despite himself, Ian's a bit charmed — none of the guys at the Alibi would be considerate enough to bring a covered drink to the person they were hitting on. "Are you on a blind date or something?"

The question surprises a laugh out of Ian. "No, no definitely not a date, blind or otherwise." 

"So what you're saying is that I have a chance?" Jon asks around a smile, taking a sip of his drink. As Ian goes to twist the cap off his and do the same Jon says, "You should tell me your name."

Ian tells him his name, but it quick to tack on, "But yeah, sorry. You don't have a chance in hell, bro."

Jon shoots him an exaggerated pout. Not only is he hot as hell, but he's _cute_ too. Ian is beyond amused as he nurses his beer, can't help but smile winningly at Jon as his lips pull back from the rim.

"But my horoscope said that I'd meet the man of my dreams today — and that he'd be a redhead," Jon whines, making sure to stress the importance of the hair color bit.

"Did it really?" Ian can't help but ask, intrigued.

"No," Jon admits quickly, smile blooming back onto his face. "But that was pretty good for an on-the-spot line, right? Ah!" He exclaims, reaching across the short distance between them to quickly scratch the tip of his fingernail just behind Ian's jaw. "You're smiling. That means it's working," Jon intones gravely, like he’s imparting some grand piece of wisdom.

"It's really not," Ian laughs, but he keeps talking to Jon anyway.

Time passes quicker with someone to talk to and get him drinks. There are times that their conversation draws him in deep enough that he doesn't check the door for a block of ten minutes or more. After two hours, his phone has firmly been put to rest in his back pocket, but he hasn't given up his vigil on the door.

Jon's managed to get Ian riled up over their current tangent. He's so thoroughly engrossed in defending the Cubs that he hasn't looked towards the door the last dozen or so times it's swung open.

He's mid-rant when someone drops down onto the bench next to him, shoving Ian's jacket between them and out of the way. Ian's amped up enough that a fight doesn't sound unappealing. He turns to ask whoever interrupted them just what the fuck they're doing when he sees that it's his guy.

"Hey," Ian's first instinct is to lean him and kiss him, but he knows better. Instead he settles for smiling in a way that probably makes the guy uncomfortable, knocking their shoulders together. "You're finally here." 

"Two and a half hours," Jon comments. Ian's head swivels back towards him. "That's a long time to have somebody wait."

"Shit, was it really nearly three hours? It didn't feel that long at all." Ian's suddenly grateful that Jon came over to talked to him. Sitting alone for that long would've given himself way too much time to psych himself out. He might have bailed. 

Silence settles over them as Ian waits for his guy to say something, but he's keeping his lips pressed together, staring at Jon. Eventually Jon clears his throat and says, "I'm Jon." He reaches a hand out across the tabletop.

His guy turns to Ian and goes, "Let's go." Ian watches him stand up and hover around the edge of the table instead of taking off like he usually does. It's the first time he's actually stuck around to make sure Ian's followed him.

"It was nice meeting you, man," Ian scrambles to get out of the booth, snagging his jacket and shrugging it on. "Thanks for talking to me and stuff, for the drinks."

Jon visibly collects himself. "Definitely — here, give me your number or something." Jon pulls out his phone. Ian really liked talking to him, and Lip's always telling him that he needs friends that aren't criminals or guys he hooked up with in ROTC, so he rattles it off quickly. "Cool, I'll text you so you'll have mine and maybe we can do this again?" Jon hedges.

Ian smiles and agrees. When he turns to see if his guy had gotten tired of waiting and bailed for the alley he finds that he's still right behind Ian, closer than before, so close that Ian nearly bowls him over. 

He grabs Ian's wrist and starts dragging Ian away from the table, but instead of heading deeper into the bar like they usually do, they leave out through the main entrance together. Another first.

Once they hit the street he lets go of Ian, making his way down the street so quickly that Ian has to work to keep up with him despite being the taller of the two. At the pace they're going they reach Downtown proper in no time. His guy abruptly stops and parks himself down onto a bench after they wander into Millennium Park. 

Ian sprawls next to him, fighting to catch his breath. The trifecta of sitting stationary for a couple hours, drinking, and not having eaten anything since his early lunch has him fatigued. "Jesus, you got a warrant in that part of town or somethin'?"

"Why were you there for three hours?" His guy asks. His hand is resting on his own thigh, curled tightly into a fist. 

"Spent most of the day in the city with my brother. I shoulda snuck into a movie to kill some time or whatever, but I went straight to the bar. You’re usually there before me so I don’t know what time you actually show up, but I figured I’d risk it. The wait really didn’t feel that long, and you're here now, so," Ian trails off.

Their eyes meet and some of the tension in his guy bleeds away. "You need to get your shit together," he says, "You're a mess." His hand's relaxed now, drawing patterns against the grain jeans. "That happen to you a lot? Guys buying you drinks'n'shit?" 

"It got me you, didn't it?" Ian kicks at his legs playfully before realizing that was probably too close to the truth. "I'm sort of a catch, in case you couldn't tell. Other dudes got eyes too, man. You'd better be nice to me, or I'll walk." 

He shoves Ian hard enough that Ian slumps over onto his side, upper body practically completely flat on the bench, too tired to lift himself back up and sit up striaght. "Yeah, okay," he comments, standing up and stretching. After a few seconds of staring at Ian's crumpled body he says, "I'm hungry. You wanna eat?"

" _Yes_ ," Ian agrees instantly. 

They head out of the park and back into the downtown nightlife. 

His guy pulls him into the first darkened alleyway they pass. Ian's hungry as hell, but that doesn't mean he's going to turn down sex. For a few seconds Ian thinks he's going to be kissed, but his guy changes direction at the last second, nudging his nose into Ian's cheek and biting at his jaw. It feels really good — Ian moans to make sure he knows that Ian likes it. Wants more of it. 

His lips slide lower, nosing the collar of Ian's jacket out of his way. He brings his teeth into play again, sucking and biting the skin of Ian's neck. Ian bruises like a peach, knows that the hickey he's being given will bloom quickly and stain a deep purple-black. It'll take weeks to fade, possibly even a month.

The noise Ian lets out when that mouth leaves his neck is pathetic even to his own ears so he isn't surprised at the pleased look that he gets sent his way. Fingers come up to cup his jaw, tilting it towards sliver of florescent light that reaches them from the street so his guy can marvel at his own handiwork. Ian shivers at the intensity of his eyes as he stares at Ian's neck. 

"C'mon," he says, voice rough, "I said I'd feed you."

•••

The place they wind up at is nicer than what Ian was expecting.

It's not _nice_ nice, but there's an 'A' proudly stuck to the front window from the health department and Ian wouldn't be shocked if somebody told him the place was featured on a lot of trendy, hipster hidden-gem lists.

He lets Ian order for both of them when it's their turn at the counter, but he shoves a fistful of bills at the old guy who rung them up before Ian can so much as reach for his wallet.

They decided on a table against the back wall next to the large tinted window facing out at the street. It's a tight fit with the both of them and their plates but Ian doesn't mind that at all. 

It’s the longest they've been around each other and they haven't even hooked up yet. Ian knocks their knees together under the cramped table as they eat, feeling emboldened at the thought. His guy shoots Ian a look. Ian does it again and gets caught off-guard when his guy moves lightning-quick to trap one of Ian's feet between his own. 

They finish eating that way, legs tangled together. Ian stacks their plates after they finish eating, shoving them into a corner, a sad attempt to save space and avoid getting up. He’s afraid that if he moves he won’t be allowed to slip their legs together again; isn’t sure if the feeling he has about tonight means that it’s special one-time deal or that there’s change in the air and that this is the start of something new.

"You've got —" his guy cuts himself off, reaching across the table to thumb the corner of Ian's lower lip. When he leans back Ian sees a glob of sauce on his finger, but before Ian can come up with a decent joke on his own messiness, his guy pops his thumb into his mouth to suck it off. 

Ian becomes acutely aware of how long it's been since they last hooked up. "Um," he says, trying to think of something to say that isn't just him begging that they slip into the bathroom for a quickie.

"So," his guy says, wiping his thumb off with the last clean corner of his already balled up napkin. He seems to stall out, silence spreading between them. His eyes won’t meet Ian's. Finally, he looks up from where he's been boring holes into the table to stare right at Ian. "My name's Mickey." 

It's like second nature for Ian to lean across the table and kiss him.

Mickey doesn't bite his tongue off.

**Author's Note:**

> happy yuletide! 
> 
> i came up with a bunch of little details as i was writing that didn't suit the story, but for those who like headcanon-type things:
>
>> the first hookup happens late season two/early season three. the milkovich's lived in a different neighbourhood, so ian never met him. mickey dropped out, moved out, and did a lot of odd jobs so that he could sustain himself, eventually he snags a gig as a woodworkers apprentice. without his dad breathing down his neck, he was able to hook up with guys exclusively and not be scared about it. 
>> 
>> at first he thinks ian's too good to be true — cute, nice, is super into him. by the time he realizes ian's the real deal, ian's convinced all the barriers mickey set up are ironclad. the fourth time they hookup mickey's hoping for ian to try to kiss him again, ask for his name again; he wants ian to force it so that they get an actual relationship rolling. the combination of ian being content with the status quo mickey's created plus other guys constantly being willing to give ian what mickey wants to give him (& being comfortable offering from at the get-to, see: jon) forces him step up his game.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [do not wander](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1532969) by [spock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock)




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